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was not a medical category.
Clayton came every morning with coffee he never drank and folders he hated opening.
“I can stop,” he told me the first time he brought the bank records. “You do not have to see this right now.”
“Yes, I do.”
He studied me. “Why?”
“Because if I don’t see it, I’ll make excuses.”
That was the most honest thing I had said in years.continue reading …
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